


too late to run

by Raven_Tio



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Songfic, Undercover Sherlock, shooting Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Tio/pseuds/Raven_Tio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a straight line in the thoughts of John Watson, as different events pass by. <br/>He would never leave the side of his dear friend Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too late to run

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic. Of course.  
> But I am not 100% pleased withe the result. I am not quite sure if the story makes any sense to somebody else than me.  
> Maybe you can enjoy reading it, anyway.

too late to run

 

When he cycled to work, he hardly looked like himself. All dressed in spandex-like clothes, a helmet and sunglasses. Together with his gloves and the new messenger-bag he felt almost like a new man.   
No wonder that Sherlock did not recognize him, when he passed him on the street not too far away from the flat he shared with Mary. A grin had quickly appeared on John Watsons face and before he even made a real thought out of that idea he was already following his friend.   
Sherlock Holmes did not look like usual as well. He had traded his well tailored suit for a shabby pair of trousers and a worn out hoody. But it was undoubtedly Sherlock. And since John had always admired the undercover work of his friend he was eager to witness it without Sherlock knowing. Besides, spying on Sherlock was the most exciting thing that had happened in the last few weeks to him.   
His life with Mary was great, but quiet. Way to peaceful for the retired soldier. Naturally he took the first chance for some danger, right on the heels of his dearest friend. It almost felt like the good old days. Him and Sherlock against the rest of the world. Apart from the fact that Sherlock did not know about his shadow.  
If the last few weeks had been different, John might have reconsidered his decision. But after all this boredom he ran right into a situation that ripped open the crack in his heart. The crack he carried with him ever since he saw Sherlock fall.

_I'll sing it one last time for you  
Then we really have to go   
You've been the only thing that's right   
In all I've done _

_And I can barely look at you  
But every single time I do   
I know we'll make it anywhere   
Away from here _

It was easy to enter the house unnoticed. Everyone in it was already high, stoned or sleeping. Or all three at the same time. John had waited outside for a couple of minutes. It was easy to follow his friend on the street, but actually entering a house. Especially a ruin. That was a little more difficult.   
At least that was what he thought by the look of that house. He had no idea that this was a place for people to do drugs in company.   
The smell was odd and heavier than sweat and John felt very uneasy all of a sudden. Not because of the thin bodies, some leaning against walls others lying on old mattresses. He knew what he was about to find, before his eyes spotted the dark curls, that spread over a pillow now. When he was only steps away from his friend the doctor could see the various utensils Sherlock had used to consume a high number of different drugs.   
Slowly and very silent he sunk to his knees right next to his friend.   
"That is all my fault…", me mumbled very low and with burning eyes. His hand was raised and now hovering over the head of Sherlock. But he didn't dare to touch him. Nevertheless he was sure there was nothing that could wake him up in the next couple of hours. All he could do now was place himself next to Sherlock. His back against the wall, John sat on the floor with his eyes fixed on the back of his friends head.   
"I shouldn't have left you, Sherlock. You… all you did for me. You saved me. Again and again. And that is how I thank you. Just leave you behind… I am not worth to be your best friend."  
He wanted to talk louder. Scream out his anger about himself. But his voice failed him and the doctor sat there in silence for another couple of hours. But once was very clear to him. He would come back. Come again with strength and get Sherlock.

_Light up, Light up  
As if you have a choice   
Even if you cannot hear my voice   
I'll be right beside you dear _

_Louder, louder  
And we'll run for our lives   
I can hardly speak I understand   
Why you can't raise your voice to say _

 

~

"What happened?"  
"He got shot…"  
"Who was it? Did you see who shot him?!"  
The desperation in John Watsons voice was not deniable. But he did not care. He had met Magnussen before and decided he couldn't stand the man. And from what he saw, he knew this old sharklike businessman would not offer any help.   
But then again, neither could John himself. He was a doctor, yes, he could take Sherlocks pulse and press the scarf onto the wound, but that was not of help. His friend was dying.   
With trembling hands John let go of Sherlocks wrist. He could not stand to feel the fading pulse. His eyes were already filling with tears, when he looked into the pale face before him on the floor. 

_To think I might not see those eyes  
It makes it so hard not to cry   
And as we say our long goodbyes   
I nearly do _

"Sherlock stay with me. You can't go now. Not again. Please."  
He heard himself pleading with a voice that was not his own. High-pitched and breaking after almost every word. But John could not care less. He sat there beside his friend and his surrounding was completely fading. There was only him and Sherlock and the horrible feeling of emptiness, that would fill him, if the heartbeat of his friend should really stop.  
"You selfish bastard, come back.", he whispered in silence, knowing his dear friend was far away from hearing him. And yet he elected to hope. Hope for him to listen. Hope for that miracle to happen again. Hope for him to return.  
"Come back to me!", he raised his voice again.  
"I know you can here me, you prick. Stop this. You have no right to do this."  
Now his voice grow louder with every word. And even when the ambulance entered the room, he did not stop.  
"Don't touché me.", he hissed at one of the medics.  
It was hard for him to watch, how they tried to stabilize him and picked him up. But with all the horror before his eyes, he would stay next to his friend.   
"No, I will come with you. He is my friend. My best friend."  
They wanted him to stay here. Stay calm and wait. Never ever would he wait for Sherlock Holmes.  
"Don't. Try. Me. I stay beside him."

_Light up, light up  
As if you have a choice   
Even if you cannot hear my voice   
I'll be right beside you dear _

_Louder, louder  
And we'll run for our lives   
I can hardly speak I understand   
Why you can't raise your voice to say _

"He is going to fast.", John heard one of them saying, when he climbed into the ambulance car.  
"Then make sure to light him up. Stay prepared.", another answered and gave John a suspicious look.   
But non of them tried to argue with the army doctor again. He had managed to scare them. And while they made the car ready to drive, he took a seat next to Sherlock and lowered his head a bit.  
"Sherlock, we don't have time for that again…", he whispered and felt his eyes burning again.   
"It's my fault.", he added and fell silent.  
John was certain he should have gone upstairs with Sherlock. Maybe they had shot them both, but it did not matter to John. Everything was better than this. Than seeing his best friend die again. And no matter how hard he tried, John could not find an easy way to handle that thought, that was swirling trough his tiny mind.  
"I want more time.", he finally mumbled and a sob escaped his throat. He covered his mouth quickly with his hand, but kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock. As if he could hold him with the pure look of his eyes.

_Slower, slower  
We don't have time for that   
All I want is to find an easier way   
To get out of our little heads _

_Have heart my dear  
We're bound to be afraid   
Even if it's just for a few days   
Making up for all this mess _

The sound of the sirens found a way into his head and John looked up for a second. They had started to move. Streetlights, cars, and windows were flying past them now. Maybe it was not to late after all.   
Another shift of his eyes and he gazed at the monitor, that displayed Sherlocks pulse. It was still fading. So was his breath.   
"Sherlock, no…", John whispered against the pale skin of Sherlocks forehead, before he placed a kiss on the very same spot.  
"Sherlock I need you. We need you. You made a vow. You can't leave now."  
And when they climbed out of the ambulance car the world was not moving any more. Everything before Johns eyes had slowed down. Without a further word he watched the medical staff, how they pushed his friend into the hospital. His steps were still keeping up. He had not left the side of his friend yet. And he was still whispering words into his ear, hoping it would help him to stay.  
And then suddenly a door closed in front of his nose.   
No acces for him.  
Not as a friend and not as a doctor.  
And he had to fight the darkness very hard. The darkness, that he had fallen in, after the fall. It was there right now, embracing him.  
John clenched his fists. And without hearing his own words he started to whisper something.  
"No. I will stay positive. He will make it."  
And with those words the light of hope came back to him and he focused on the one word Sherlock always found, when he was in danger. And even if John could not hear it right now, he knew the word passed Sherlocks lips right now.  
 _John_

_Light up, light up  
As if you have a choice   
Even if you cannot hear my voice   
I'll be right beside you dear_


End file.
